


shake the ground you walk upon

by gayprophets



Series: Everyday Kepler [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gallows Humor, Humor, badassery, ep 35 fill, faint elements of worldbuilding, fbi shaming, mama and barclay go beastmode; the fic, they're OUTRAGEOUS, we didn't get to see mama barclay and stern fighting the abominations so i wrote it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 03:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayprophets/pseuds/gayprophets
Summary: “I’m gonna die!” Stern yelps, panicked, but he immediately empties the rest of his clip into the mouth of some enormous dog-thing charging at them, so he’s got good instincts and honestly, will probably do fine. Mama is hot on the thing’s heels, sprinting out of the fog, wielding her ammo-less rifle like a club and the blade of a blood covered knife clenched between her teeth.Barclay vaults over the dog-thing as it collapses, its momentum not slowed by its death. He lands easily beyond it, hearing Stern shout as it takes him out at the knees, knocking him to the ground.-What happens with Mama, Barclay, and Stern as our intrepid heroes fight the Quell in Sylvain.





	shake the ground you walk upon

**Author's Note:**

> amnesty isn't ending this week wym. we have plenty more episodes. whats a finale.  
title from weapon for saturday by lolo

“You are both _ insane,” _ Stern stresses, upper lip curling and jolting towards Barclay as though physical emphasis will get his point across. He’s currently pressed behind a crate with Barclay, taking the occasional potshot over the top with his sidearm. His shirt collar is twisted and he’s run his hands through his hair too many times, pushing it over the line of _ mussed _ and into _ messy. _ Barclay is only there to reload the two guns that he’d managed to scrounge up and to convince Stern to quit hiding.

“You’re being a coward,” Barclay replies calmly. “We need help, come have our backs.” He can hear Mama’s beautiful cackle, then the sound of a blade piercing through flesh, wet and thick. Something whimpers. Barclay hasn’t heard her laugh in so long that he grins to himself automatically. Also, he’s so hopped up on adrenaline right now that nothing feels real. If they die they die, it’s of _ absolutely _ no consequence to him.

“I have your backs_ just fine _ from right here!” Stern hisses. He’s looking at Barclay all bug-eyed, mouth agape. “Why is she laughing? Fuck, why are you _ smiling?!” _

“You’ve hit _ nothing,” _ Barclay replies, feeling his grin spreading wider across his face until his cheeks ache. “Let’s go get our hands dirty, yeah?” He grabs Stern’s wrist and hauls him to his feet, launching them both out into the open.

“I’m gonna die!” Stern yelps, panicked, but he immediately empties the rest of his clip into the mouth of some enormous dog-thing charging at them, so he’s got good instincts and honestly, will probably do fine. Mama is hot on the thing’s heels, sprinting out of the fog, wielding her ammo-less rifle like a club and the blade of a blood covered knife clenched between her teeth. 

Barclay vaults over the dog-thing as it collapses, its momentum not slowed by its death. He lands easily beyond it, hearing Stern shout as it takes him out at the knees, knocking him to the ground.

“That is _ not _ how we handle knives!” Barclay admonishes Mama. He can hear something coming towards them, but it can damn well wait its turn. He plucks the knife out of her mouth, wiping it off on his jeans. Mama gives him a blood-tinged grin, and she is stunning in the moonlight, her stance warlike, Athena come down from Olympus to show them all how it’s done.

She spits on the ground next to them, then drawls, “Do you gotta hair tie? If this shit gets in my face one more damn time tonight I’ll hack it off with a knife, and then we’ll haveta buzz it, and my mother will have another heart attack from beyond the grave.”

“Just slick it back with blood!” Barclay says cheerily, pulling one off of his wrist. “Thacker’d say anything’s hair gel if you try hard enough.” God, it feels _ good _ to reference him without a pang of sadness. 

“CAN WE _ PLEASE,” _ Stern shouts, having finally extracted himself from underneath the corpse of the dog-thing, _ “PAY ATTENTION?!” _

Mama swivels smoothly on her heels and raises her rifle above her head, bringing the butt of it down with a sickening crack onto the skull of some long, hip high dragonesque figure that had just appeared, about to strike. The blow snaps its jaws shut and its own teeth sever its tongue, which writhes in the grass like a worm. “I _ AM _ PAYING ATTENTION!” she bellows back, and Barclay fires two rounds into the dragon’s forehead.

Barclay quickly scoops her hair up into a high ponytail for her in a few practiced motions, then presses the spare gun into her hand. 

“Thank you, my love,” Mama says, kissing him on the cheekbone, feather light. Stern screams dramatically and fires a volley of shots into a charging beast, this time managing to leap out of the way of the body as it slides to a halt. She rolls her eyes, making Barclay laugh. 

“I think we should make a break for the Lodge,” Mama announces, stalking towards Stern and handing the knife’s sheath to Barclay, which he sticks in his belt. He’s _ missed _ fighting alongside her. Sure, he’s _ glad _ she’s been sitting out, because over the years she’s beaten her body to hell and back and nothing twists up his insides quite like seeing her in pain. Something sour curls in his stomach at every bruise and hard fall, and her limping around with a cane had almost driven him over the edge with worry, but there’s something about watching her, so alive in the moment. Her wild grin and her confident competence gets him every time, the arc of her body as she swings a bat and the way she plants her feet to fire a shot makes him wish he had a camera, or better yet, could _ paint. _ If there’s anybody’s side he’d like to die at, it’s hers. 

Not that she’d let him. Even if he _ did _ manage to kick it, somehow, she’d bring him back so she could shout at him for it. 

“Why?” Stern asks, still wild-eyed. His outfit has ceased to be ‘stress rumpled’ and is now ‘been bodyslammed by a rampaging cow’, dirt all down his back and blood covering his white shirt, tie askew. Mama scoffs at him and rips the tie off, flinging it away.

“Wearin’ a tie to a _ fight, _ Jesus _ Christ,” _ she says. “Ain’t nobody ever teach you how to dress? You’re like Aubrey tryin’ to show up to fight the bear in shorts. Gonna get caught on somethin’ and choke ya out.”

“It’s warded,” Barclay explains, pushing them all forward towards the exit. “And has weapons, unless you _ stole _ them. We’re gonna run out of bullets.” Some oversized snake slithers up behind them and Mama passes him the rifle, which he golf-swings into its head, whacking clear it across the field.

“Thats -,” Mama’s brow wrinkles. “What’s a good score in golf?” she asks Stern.

“What makes you think I play _ golf?” _ Stern says, opening the door. 

Mama raises an incredulous eyebrow at him.

“Well, it depends -,”

“I ain’t askin’ for a rundown on the _ sport, _ sweet lord -,”

_ “Par!” _ Stern bursts out, then empties another clip into something _ slimy _ lurching a slick trail down the hall at them. “Is it _ always like this _with you two?!”

“Like what?” Barclay asks, clubbing a wolf on the head, swiftly followed by Mama’s bullets.

“The jokes! The _ laughing!” _ Stern snaps.

“Oh, no,” Barclay says, chuckling. “Not at _ all! _ I have so much adrenaline happening right now that I think you could hit me with a _ truck _ and I wouldn’t feel it! Nothing is real and it’s _ hysterical!” _

“And I’m _ definitely _ still drugged!” Mama chimes in, which explains the unnatural gleam in her eyes. Beyond the usual faint mania, that is. Barclay laughs, kissing her on the cheek. “Honestly, Stern,” she continues as they all walk past the door that Stern had stuffed Agent Haynes’ unconscious body behind. Barclay has a brief fit of insanity where he considers opening it up and spitting on him. “You’re lucky I ain’t knockn’ you out and puttin’ you with Haynes!”

“I’d kind of prefer that!” Stern says, high pitched and breathless. Something thunders down a hallway they’re passing by and Mama shoots it, shoving them forward and onward.

“Why aren’t we running?” Stern asks as they’re passing by the computers. They’re power walking, which means Stern’s being forced to jog in order to keep up with their longer legs, sandwiched between the two of them. “It _ really _ feels like we should be running!”

“This ain’t a sprint, Stern,” Mama begins.

“It’s a marathon,” Barclay finishes. He grins back at her, and she blows him a kiss. 

“If we start running now it’ll be our whole day,” Barclay explains calmly as Mama grabs the thing she shot - another dog creature - by the front paws as it comes back from behind them, hoisting it up in the air even as it snaps at her, her forearm barely staying out of its slobbering jaws as she cuts it down the middle with her knife, gutting it cleanly. Stern gags and turns away. “Once you start for whatever reason you never get to stop! Anecdotal evidence -” he says, cracking another beast in the head, which Stern follows up with a neat shot between the eyes. “Nice one! Anyways, yeah, thirty years of experience points to _ don’t start running until you have to.” _

“Also, my ankle will give out in short order if I go full tilt right away,” Mama chimes in, and Barclay pokes his head out of the building to make sure the coast is clear before they start the trek back to the lodge. The sudden lack of voices clues him in to how badly his ears are ringing, and he sends a mental apology to his future self for the worsening tinnitus. He and Mama already have to sleep with the fan on. 

Far off, he can hear shouts, the sharp cracks of gunfire, and engines roaring. He hopes everybody’s doing alright - last minute wards never hold up very long, no matter which spellcasters put them up. Especially not on a place of business; it takes years and years for energy to build up, and the Cryptonomica lacks the innate power that lies in the threshold of a home.

“How much ammo do you got left?” Mama hisses at him. 

“Not enough,” he says, after some quick calculations. He has another clip in his pocket and three left in his current one. 

Mama grimaces. There’s a spatter of blood across her left temple and a patch of darkness on her shirtsleeve - she must not have quite managed to avoid something’s teeth. “Stick close,” she tells Stern. “If you get lost we ain’t comin’ back for you.”

He doesn’t stick close, gets lost, and they go back for him. 

“Having morals and a sense of duty and responsibility is such a _ hinderance _ sometimes,” Barclay’s complaining to Mama right as they pull Stern out of a bush and away from some truly disgusting overgrown ant, which twitches disturbingly as Barclay crushes its skull beneath his heel. “God, I wish we could just be _ evil, _ huh? Like everybody thinks we are? Rather than saving _ cops _ who _ drug _ people we could be getting things done and -,”

“I _ got _ it!” Stern yelps. “Okay? I get it! I’m _ sorry!” _

“He could be worse,” Mama says, more or less frog marching Stern towards the lodge, keeping her sharp eyes on the fog shrouded trees surrounding them as Barclay takes up the rear. “He supports unions, at least. I didn’t even have to convince him, he’d already joined his!”

“Really? I’m very proud,” Barclay tells him. “You’re going to need your rep with you when they fire you for letting your boss get stabbed by us fugitives and then locking him in the closet. They might try ‘n take your severance package.”

Stern either sobs or laughs, Barclay isn’t sure. “My life is a_ shitshow,” _ he says. “And I’m going to _ die _ in _ buttfuck nowhere West Virginia.” _

“Ain’t no better place to be!” Mama says right as they come into view of Amnesty Lodge. It’s as run down and dark as before, and Barclay almost bumps into Mama’s back as she freezes at the sight of it.

“I know,” he mumbles into her ear. “We’ll fix it. We’ll fix it, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

She inhales sharply through her nose. “It’ll be okay,” she repeats. 

They get inside without incident, which makes Stern furrow his brow, especially when he watches out the window as one of the Quell’s beasts slinks past as if the lodge doesn’t exist. Mama’s already vanished upstairs, so he drags Stern down to the basement to collect weaponry.

“Why aren’t they noticing us?” Stern asks, his voice lowered to a whisper. “They’re all over everything else.”

“Wards,” Barclay replies at a normal volume, plugging his and Mama’s wedding anniversary into the passcode of the gun safe, then begins pulling out weapons. “They’ll fail eventually, since we haven’t _ been here _ to keep them up -,” he casts a cutting look at Stern, whose pale, washed out face turns appropriately red with shame under the harsh fluorescent lights, “- but we have a few minutes to gather ourselves.” He starts setting things out onto the table: an AK that he hates and Mama hates but is unfortunately _ really good _ at killing things, knives and daggers, a machete, a cast iron morningstar. Stern looks like a wreck, hair sticking up in sweaty spikes, a fat lip and a black eye swelling up, and there’s blood crusted around his right nostril. That’s to say nothing of his suit, which has reached _ fuck-everything-just-burn-it _ levels of grime. His hands shake slightly as Barclay hands him a wooden baseball bat, but he takes it and sets his jaw.

“Is that why I always have such a hard time finding this place?” Stern asks. He looks a little queasy, and he keeps glancing back towards the stairs like he wants to bolt. “I always - I always drive right by it. We had to string up fluorescent markers the whole way to the gate and at the end of the driveway just so we’d stop getting lost.”

“That’d do it, yeah,” Barclay replies, overwhelmingly pleased that they’ve inconvenienced a great deal of FBI agents. “If you’re feeling real sick right about now, it’s ‘cause you aren’t supposed to be down here. We put a lot of ‘em in the basement - it doubles as a safehouse. Nothing gets in that we don’t want.”

“How do you _ do _ that?” Stern asks, and Barclay shoots him a look that he hopes is withering. _ How dare you, _ he thinks, _ how dare you split us up and _ ** _drug my wife_ ** _ and then think you have the _ ** _right_ ** _ to ask me _ ** _ questions._ ** Thankfully, Mama comes down the stairs then, dousing Barclay’s anger before it can truly ignite. He doesn’t need to shout at Stern for anything, because Mama can do it herself just fine. Better than he can, anyways - Barclay’s a _ huge _ angry crier, and the tears kind of ruin the whole effect.

“Things are startin’ to look a little closer, so we gotta head out pretty soon,” Mama says. She’s changed out of the clothes the FBI gave her and into a long sleeve grey shirt, a deep green fleece vest, black cargo pants, and hiking boots. She has multiple knives strapped to her belt, brass knuckles on her right hand, and she’s braiding her hair. “How are you feelin’, Stern? What’re you thinkin’?”

“I’m _ thinking _ that you are both _ bloodthirsty maniacs _ and I literally never want to see you or any part of this state ever again,” Stern says, blunt. Barclay cackles. “I’m serious!” he continues emphatically. “You’re _ insane _ and I don’t understand how you fucking _ lunatics _ aren’t _ dead! _ You keep _ laughing _ at things that make me want to _ shit my pants! _ I’ve _ never _ confronted my own mortality like this and I _ never want to do it again. _ I’m going to need _ so much therapy.” _

“Don’t worry,” Barclay says, “We don’t ever want to see you again either.”

“You gotta be an optimist,” Mama tells Stern, tying off the braid and picking up the AK. Barclay puts the machete on his belt as well as a few of the knives, and hefts the morningstar. Mama continues, “I _ believe _ we’re gonna get out of this, even if it is just by the skin of our teeth. We always do. Chin up, glass half full, etcetera, etcetera. Is my shotgun still in some Fed lockup somewhere?”

“Yes,” Stern says. “You’re _ not _ getting it back.”

“Y’all _ drug _ me and then _ steal my property _ -,”

“It’s a sawed off shotgun!” Stern says, exasperated. “You can’t just _ have it! _ They’re _ illegal!” _

“So is _ denyin’ me a lawyer!” _ Mama snaps back, and a window breaks upstairs. They all go silent. Mama reaches over and flicks the lights off, throwing them all into blackness. 

Many footsteps creak overhead. Barclay strains his ears - yeah, his tinnitus is definitely not happy with him - and can somewhat hear but more _ sense _ Mama slowly step off the last stair and creep over to the two of them. The darkness is so complete it feels alive, thick, something with _ weight. _ There’s a chorus of clicking and chattering above them - Barclay counts at least eight distinct creatures, and sure, they’ve royally trounced everything else, but one on one is different from a _ pack. _ Mama’s hand finds his own, tangling their fingers, the metal of her brass knuckles growing blood-hot from their skin. There’s never been an abomination in their home before, and the sensation is alien and terrifying. Amnesty Lodge is supposed to be _ safe. _ Barclay holds his breath as something snuffles along the door to the basement. 

The wards hold: it walks off without pushing the door in. He hears Mama sigh, so soft he almost misses it, and she pulls him down slightly to put her lips next to his ear.

“Would you be able to bust through the doors leadin’ outside?” she breathes, barely audible. “They’re bolted shut. I’ll keep Stern lookin’ this way.”

He squeezes her hand once, then lets go and takes off his bracelet. He has to duck as to avoid cracking his head into the ceiling tiles, and he hears Stern inhale sharply at the sensation of more body mass in the room with them. 

The doors prove to be no problem, but he’ll definitely be sore tomorrow - not that he wasn’t going to be already - and the noise attracts quite some attention. Wards only work so long as you don’t do anything to actively counteract their protection. He’s got his disguise back on just as Stern pokes his head out, and a massive bull careens around the corner of the lodge, six legged and four horned. Barclay sees blood spray from its front legs as Mama kneecaps it, but it doesn’t slow, so he charges it, shouting. He grabs it by the longer set of gnarled horns and uses its own weight and momentum to swing it around, hooves sliding in the dirt and his own heels digging in, arms screaming at the weight and knees at the twist, and when he releases it the thing slides into a tree, horns embedding deep into the wood. It tries to rear back, but doesn’t move, stuck.

_ “Holy shit,” _ Stern says.

“That’s how we do it!” Mama drawls, smiling. She grabs the morningstar that Barclay dropped and bashes the bull on the back of the neck until it slumps, then hands it to him. There’s more things coming, crashing through the underbrush towards them, so Barclay grabs Mama and charges back towards the archway, Stern scrambling to keep up behind them.

Mama picks things off as they sprint for the gate, her gun’s rapidfire _ crack _ beating through the air, Barclay occasionally swinging the morningstar into things that she or Stern finish off behind him. They come up on the compound in record time. 

There’s a three headed gecko climbing down the wall above the entryway, the size of a Komodo dragon. Mama raises her gun.

The fog vanishes, and with it, the gecko. The woods go suddenly, sharply quiet, and the shouting and gunfire from town dies off, engines cutting out one by one.

“Oh my God,” Mama says. “Did they - did we -?”

There’s silence for a moment as the three of them slowly scan the forest, which is empty. Safe. Distantly, he hears someone cheer.

Mama turns to him, grinning wide enough that it must hurt. 

“You’re _ magnificent,” _ he tells her, hoarse, and she grabs him, dips him, kisses him. It’s not graceful: their teeth clack at first, bruisingly forceful, and Barclay laughs into her mouth. He throws his arms around her, one hand curling around the back of her neck, and it devolves into something _ infinitely _ more suited to teenagers drunk at a party than two grown adults spattered with gore. Barclay doesn’t think he’s ever had a better kiss, even though her tongue kind of tastes like blood.

She sets him upright and they look at each other for a moment, breathless. Barclay scoops her into a hug that picks her up off the ground, spinning her around as she whoops, throwing her fists in the air wildly. He’s laughing hysterically, putting his ear against her chest to hear the loud drumbeat of her heart.

“I get to retire!” Mama screams. _ “You _ get to retire! We’re _ retirin’!” _

Barclay places her down on the ground, gentle, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck, and they cling to each other for a long minute. They both smell disgusting, and he couldn't care less. She’s so warm and alive in his arms - her silver flyaways are tickling his face, and they’re panting like they’ve run a marathon. She pulls back just enough to kiss him again, softer this time, then presses their sweaty foreheads together, noses touching. The night wildlife is starting to kick in around them again, crickets and frogs beginning their orchestra. Her hands are fisted in the back of his jacket and his hair, pulling him closer, _ closer. _

“What are we gonna _ do?” _ Mama bursts out suddenly, laughing. “We’re going to have so much free time and so little adrenaline! I’m like a border collie on _ meth! _ If I don’t get enough walkies I might start gnawin’ on our furniture, Barclay.”

“We’ll go BASE jumping or something every week,” Barclay replies, having already thought about this. “See how fast we can get those stupid escape rooms done. Fuck, we could make Amnesty Lodge into Amnesty _ Farm. _ See if wrangling livestock every day does it for you.”

Mama’s eyes go wide. “You’re gonna let me get _ chickens?” _ she asks.

“Need to keep your mouth away from my couches somehow,” Barclay says, and she cackles. 

“I _ love _ you,” she says.

“I love you too,” he replies. “More than anything. Also, if you get arrested again I am going to _ kill _ you. I’m serious!” he continues as she laughs. “Leave me like that again and I’m digging your grave myself, Madeline Cobb!”

“Should we - uh, sorry to interrupt,” Stern says, and physically cringes when they both look over at him. Barclay had, honestly, kind of forgotten he was there. “Should we go in?” He’s leaning against a spruce tree, grip slack around the baseball bat.

“In a minute,” Mama says. “Let’s give ‘em a bit to wrap it up. If they ain’t out in ten minutes we’ll head on over.”

Stern nods, shutting his eyes and sliding down the tree trunk until he’s sitting. He puts his head between his knees.

“What hurts?” Barclay says, turning his full attention back to Mama. He’d clocked a first aid kit on the wall inside the compound, which he retrieves along with an abandoned water bottle on one of the desks. They sit on the ground and he carefully disinfects the punctures on Mama’s forearm, splitting the water with her. He’s finishing wrapping them up as headlights flash through the trees, an engine rumbling up to them. A sleek black motorcycle pulls to a stop beside them, Dani, windblown and blood splattered, clinging to the driver’s back. She leaps off as soon as the driver has both their feet on the ground, marching right up to them.

“Can we _ go?” _ she says, pointing towards the gate. The driver - Hollis - pulls off their helmet, which has a huge scrape along one side, missing paint and actual physical material, shorn down to a flat plane as though they’d sawed it off. Hollis yanks off their leather glove with their teeth and swipes some sweat off of their forehead with the back of their hand, helmet beneath their other arm. They have the worst case of helmet hair that Barclay’s ever seen, exacerbated by their mullet.

“Thank you, Hollis,” Mama says. “I heard you and your cult rippin’ through here. I doubt these chucklefucks coulda pulled this off without you.”

“Just fuckin’… _ Jesus,” _ Hollis says. They tilt their head back and look up at the stars for a moment, silent. “I don’t even know anymore. This is all so insane. You owe me a new helmet, though, this one’s _ wrecked. _ It’s over now, right?”

“Should be,” Barclay replies. “Wanna go see an alien planet?”

Hollis blinks owlishly at him. “Do I -? _ No,” _ they decide on. “No. I’ve had enough of… everything for tonight, I think. I’m _ not _ ready to be an astronaut. I need to make sure Keith is okay before I do anything else. Got to make sure he’s not dead in a ditch.”

“I kinda flagged them down and demanded they take me here immediately,” Dani says sheepishly. “Thanks, Hollis.”

“Tell your girlfriend that if she ever threatens my boyfriend again…” Hollis trails off menacingly, but Barclay can tell that their heart’s not really in it right now. Mama stands up and helps Barclay to his feet. 

“Let’s get you home,” she says, but Barclay shakes his head. 

“I’ll go round all the other Sylphs up, yeah?” he says. “You go throw your weight around to make sure they don’t boot us all back out again.”

Mama kisses him on the forehead. “Sure,” she says. “Be quick, alright? Don’t wanna let you out of my sight.”

“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “I’m not letting us get separated again.”

A two more motorcycles drive up, Minerva and Leo in tow. Keith rips off his helmet before he even pulls to a halt and launches himself at Hollis, who nearly knocks their own motorcycle over in their haste to dismount. Their hug is less _ embrace _ and more _ body slam. _ Barclay looks away as they start to kiss, harsh and desperate. He heads over to Stern, who is still looking a little overwhelmed.

“Go with them,” he tells Stern. “To Sylvain, I mean. Might need some extra manpower in case it’s broken bad over there.”

Stern nods and pushes himself to his feet. “Right,” he says. “Right, yes. I’ll do that.” He watches Stern mouth _ Sylvain _ to himself, committing it to memory.

Barclay crosses over to Keith and Hollis, who have broken apart somewhat - just holding hands now. “Would one of you mind giving me a lift back to town? I have a few people to collect.”

He rides back with Keith, twisting around in time to see Mama entering the building, her arm around Dani’s shoulders, who seems to be vibrating with nerves. He smiles and waves at her retreating form. He’ll be back with her as soon as he rounds everyone up.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at themlet dot tumblr dot com.... comments and kudos appreciated (i will love you forever if you leave them). ive been with holleith since the beginning and im so glad its finally catching on lol (now if only i wasnt the only one making cobbclay content..)


End file.
